Free Seducing Mr. Heywood by Jo Manning Page B

health, sir.” She raised her glass.
    “And yours.” Charles returned the compliment, smiling.
    Sophia sipped the brandy, contemplating the man before her through the thick mesh of her long eyelashes. She felt a stirring inside that had nothing to do with the infusion of liquor through her system.
    Charles caught her appraising look. He took a hurried sip of the brandy and placed his glass upon the side table. That scene in this same drawing room a few short weeksago returned in all its glory. Lady Sophia’s full, creamy white bosom flashed before his eyes. If he tarried any longer, he would disgrace himself with his surging lust. He must leave.
    Sophia took note of his sudden nervousness and smiled; she knew how to relax high-strung young men. Putting an arm on his sleeve, she purred like a sleek, satisfied cat. “Mr. Heywood,” she whispered, “have you seen the Hall’s gardens by moonlight?”
    Rowley Hall was famous for its rose gardens. An Elizabethan ancestress, Blanche Snow, had been responsible for creating the fragrant blooms. Indeed, a particularly fragrant white rose, the
Blanca Gloriosa
, had been named for her. That rose was planted all along the far wall of the garden, and it perfumed the soft, warm night air with its presence. Lady Sophia’s signature fragrance, almond blossoms, wove in and out of the underlying leitmotif of roses. Charles was intoxicated by the sweet competing odors.
    Lady Sophia walked slowly, skirt swaying, to a stone bench set in an ivy-trellised alcove. Her gown was cut low in the back, displaying her white shoulders and long neck. Charles’s eyes were fixed at a point between her shoulder blades. As she stopped short, he bumped into her back. “Beg pardon, my lady,” he murmured.
    “My fault entirely, sir. I stopped suddenly.” She turned to face him, her movements sleek and sinuous. Charles’s heart lurched in his chest. She looked up at him, the motion feline but unmistakably female, as well. If he had been sitting down, he was sure she would have jumped in his lap for a cuddle, like a favorite kitten. He backed away a step. She walked toward him, closing the gap.
    His collar was inordinately tight and he felt drops of perspiration forming at his temples. Lady Sophia took her thumb and ran it over his lower lip, slowly, teasingly. She suddenly pressed down hard and giggled when he jumped. He gulped.
    “My, what a soft mouth you have, Mr. Heywood,” she cooed.
    Charles was mesmerized. Sophia stood on tiptoes and slanted her mouth over his. The pressure of her warm lips forced his to open slightly. Slowly, excruciatingly, the pointed tip of her sweet tongue insinuated itself into his mouth. His arms wrapped around her curvaceous, yielding form and she sighed as his tongue met hers and began to explore her soft, warm mouth.
    His hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers kneading the smooth strands of hair, loosening them from the bun at the back of her neck. He caressed the warm nape of her neck, the satiny soft skin between her shoulder blades, and moved on to her ear, fingering a dangling earbob and pulling on it playfully. She moved sensuously against him, backing him against the wooden trellis. Her hands began to explore his chest, his hipbones, his…
    Charles broke the deep kiss, reaching down to take Sophia’s wandering hands. “My lady, I don’t think—” He attempted to stay her.
    Sophia looked up at him, the moonlight playing over her flushed face, illuminating the loosened strands of pale blond hair on either side of her face. Her lips were swollen, he saw, swollen with the force and passion of his kiss. “Why think at all, Charles?” Sophia asked. Her breath was warm and sweet on his face.
    Charles swallowed. Why, indeed, he thought? But he knew why all too very well. “Because, my lady, it behooves us, as sentient human beings, to think, to consider the consequences of our actions.”
    “I would rather feel than think right now, Charles, I would